


Flow As They Will

by Jalules



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Comfort, Control Issues, Domestic, Fluff, Gags, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Voyeurism, a mix of sexual and nonsexual relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalules/pseuds/Jalules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She usurps his schemes and he looks to her with nervous, grateful eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flow As They Will

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Jane has known Dirk for several years now, just a week longer than she’s known Roxy, two months less than she’s known Jake.

And though she’s certain she has her finger on the pulse of each one’s inner-workings, clever sleuth that she is, she is especially sure in her understanding of Dirk Strider. They share a sort of kinship, a certain similarity hard to explain.

While she is able to sniff out exactly which parts of Jake’s tall tales are embellished to impress, can determine which particular stifled giggle means Roxy is keeping a secret, she takes the most pride in noticing the nigh-imperceptible twitch in Dirk’s brow, the slight and silent jerk of his shoulders that shows a statement has made an especially strong impact.

She really _doesn’t_ understand his sense of humor sometimes, but that’s different from understanding a person at their base. And besides, she laughs at his jokes anyway.

She has investigated Dirk to the best of her ability, in glances around corners, in notes to himself she probably shouldn’t have read, in talks across tables while she herself was analyzed.

He seems to understand her too, but then, he has a way of getting into everybody’s head.

 _She_ understands _him_ about as well as anyone can, though, and he knows it.

It’s only after he realized she was onto him that he really gave himself up. He shares with her, something deep and different. In rare instances when the weight of his own thoughts becomes too much, when he is near to breaking, he relinquishes control, gives it all to her.

It’s no easy task.

He’s calculating, always, planning and thinking and quietly calling the shots, pulling the strings, as it were. They’ll go here, they’ll eat there, they’ll stay together, they’ll wait, they’ll _listen_ -

She smacks his hand, light like she’s scolding a kitten, and tells him no, or yes, or anything at all to be contrary.

She usurps his schemes and he looks to her with nervous, grateful eyes.

It’s too much for one person, all this self-appointed authority, this grave responsibility. Constant control of every little thing drives him slowly up the wall. Constant control of himself leaves him a wreck.

He needs a break from himself, and she is happy to give it.

 

She settles him in small ways, choosing his tie before they go to dinner, tells him he’s a great big silly.

She accepts his help, gladly, in any and all matters, but turns him away at the first sign of a simulation, of a random number generator stocked with five thousand offshoot scenarios that could possibly happen.

He has everything covered, he says.

No, she says, and makes him sit, _she_ has everything covered.

She tells him to relax, to shoot the breeze for a while, tells him to eat the raspberry crumble she makes in the time it takes him to run out of things to say about the history of robotics in film, since that’s where his frantic thoughts have brought him.

The relief of being given one choice, one gentle order to follow, is clear in his smile, in his low, content sigh.

 

There are rules, limits, as there are in anything. She cannot stop him from taking three showers a day if he feels that he needs to. She may not push him to watch or eat or say or do anything that he says _no_ to, rare as an objection is. Stern suggestions to go to sleep for at least an hour before the sun rises, because everything will still be there in the morning and he’s going to make himself sick working and stirring and obsessing like this, will inevitably be ignored.

Ultimately she doesn’t hold much power, _shouldn’t_ , and she’s frankly touched to be entrusted with as much as she is.

She uses it wisely, only when needed, only when she has the okay.

Today, with Dirk stressed and sad over something unknown, with Roxy’s teasing leaving him unsmiling and Jake’s attempts to string together a joke met with a shrug, Jane has the okay.  Dirk doesn’t need cheering, he needs to get out of his own head.

A nod between them, a silent assurance, and Jane takes control.

With his go ahead, she arranges everything.

 

They all agree to watch a movie, to meet in the living room at half past six.

Dirk arrives first, just as punctual as Jane herself, each of them entering the room from opposite ends and meeting in the middle.

He gives her a hug, spontaneous, much needed.

When he pulls away she teases him gently; Shirtless already? Either he’s expecting something or he’s blatantly ignoring her house-wide dress code.

She winks, so he knows she’s kidding, and bless his heart, he blushes.

His hair is wet from a second shower, and when he sits down on the couch he seems to be waiting, watching, till Roxy tiptoes in, half a minute past due, and drops onto the cushion beside him, immediately bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair.

He moves to fix it, hesitates, looks to Jane as she takes her place in the easy chair.

She stares him down, legs crossed, back straight, and raises one questioning brow.

Is he in this for the long haul, or no?

He drops his hands to his lap, sighs in defeat.

It’s these little things he struggles with, but they’re the first things he has to accept.

A few minutes late, Jake enters the room, DVD in hand, and pauses by Jane’s side to plant a light and slightly scratchy kiss to her temple.

Then he starts up the movie, takes his seat at Dirk’s other side, just slightly too close.

For ninety-eight minutes they watch _The Princess Bride_ , and for ninety-eight minutes, Dirk squirms.

He’s well out of his comfort zone, so perfectly nestled between two people he loves so much it hurts. He’s lulled to a soft, sweet place he can’t possibly fight his way out of, and as the credits roll and Roxy reaches for the remote, Jane can see him getting tense.

There’s always a possibility he’ll bolt, make a run for the roof, and if it comes to that, they’ll let him go. But before he makes any sudden decisions, Jane likes to double check.

She says his name, almost a question, and smiles at his small jump of surprise. She asks if he’s okay, and when he hesitates to answer, clearly thinking it over, Jake jumps in, just where he should.

He nudges Dirk’s side, says he _does_ look a bit nervy. Roxy is quick to agree, draping herself over Dirk’s stiff shoulders and sighing that he is in desperate need of maxin’ and chillaxin.’

They offer to help him with that, so obvious and silly with the suggestion that Jane cannot help but laugh. Curled comfy and cozy on her own, legs folded beneath her, she shifts to get a better view, smiles, pleased and proud, when Dirk sinks into their hands.

He isn’t the only one who can pull strings in this arrangement, and when it is a question of convincing Jake and Roxy to turn him to a clinging, shivering mess, there really isn’t any coercion necessary.

And he _does_ cling, doesn’t he? He presses close to Jake, tries to get a handful of his shirt as he’s kissed, clearly wants to pry it off him. Right off the bat, he’s trying to take charge. Thankfully they’re prepared, and when Roxy quips that it’s so much easier to tie his arms all neat and pretty behind his back when that dumb but somehow hot wifebeater isn’t in the way, Dirk and Jane share a conspiratorial little smile.

Expecting something indeed, then.

His shades are next to go, slipped right off the bridge of his nose and into the hands of one Jake English, who gives them to Jane, who folds them up and places them tidily in her lap.

There is no hiding, here, and no distractions in the form of funny computer business. Dirk has to face his undoing head on, and it’s such a lovely change to see his eyes, bright with anxious excitement, pupils dilated. His gaze travels fast around the room, from one affectionate face to the next, quick as the rest of him can flashstep, and when it finally settles on Jane, she makes sure to offer him a reassuring smile.

She leans over one arm rest to be that much closer, still keeping an agreeable distance. Really though, she says, he is _such_ a great big silly.

Dirk swallows roughly (Jake’s fingers sliding down over the crotch of his pants would be sure to make him stutter if he tried to speak,) waits till Roxy’s arms are twined around his midsection, holding him sure and steady, and finally he admits that he is. He is the biggest of all the fucking sillies.

 Which is nice to hear, and makes Roxy giggle something fierce, but Jane knows that in the long run she can’t let him go talking up a storm. Because he will, and each rambling misdirection will leave Jake faltering, will make Roxy want to fire back with a funny comment of her own, and letting Dirk run the conversation when he is supposed to be letting this all go is unacceptable.

She folds her arms, rests her chin atop them, and tells Jake to gag him.

Again, that nervous, grateful glance, and a pleasant surprise in the form of a verbal agreement.

Yes please, he says, and it’s sarcastic but so, so, sincere; gagging him is a great idea, he says, stop his stupid babbling before he runs into a fucking wall made of his own never ending verbiage and knocks himself out, he’ll be in a word-induced coma and they’ll have to take turns standing over his bed weeping, it’s okay, they can pull the plug, really.

Really.

Silent, they all stare at him, wait to see if he’s finished. Which, judging by the uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders, he is.

He sucks in a breath, releases it in a shuddered sigh. Roxy tips her head to his, rests temple to temple, and tells him he’s shaking.

He wets his lips just once, closes his eyes, opens his mouth obediently. He stays statue-still as Jake slips the gag between his teeth, fastens it behind his head. His hair is pushed further out of place, and Jane can see the way he struggles, his desperate swallow. Roxy’s gently petting hands against his stomach soothe him, and when he tries to speak against the gag it is a garbled, though calm, noise.

Thanks, he says. Even if Jane can’t hear it, she knows just what he meant.

In the relative silence since their movie ended, Jane is left listening to the soft sounds of Dirk’s breathing, to Jake and Roxy’s shared laughter as they tip him back, rearrange him into something that suits them.

Roxy backs up to one end of the couch, lets Dirk rest his head in her lap so she can run her fingers through his hair, stroking, soothing him. Jake leans over from the other end, kissing a path down Dirk’s stomach, mutters something that Jane doesn’t quite catch, but it makes Dirk groan and arch, go red in the face.

He’s so much easier to rile up than you would think, and every time Jane watches him like this, she finds herself flushed for his sake, struck by second hand embarrassment and a touch of excitement.

She doesn’t touch him herself, not like this, nor does he touch her. That would just be kind of weird.

She directs Jake from her living room throne, though, dropping gentle hints, scolding him outright when he seems to miss the point.

Slower here, she says, harder there, careful, now do it again, and kiss his hipbone, you know he likes that.

She talks him down between Dirk’s legs, into teasing and touching, into ridding Dirk of the last of his clothing.

Jake doesn’t really need the help, he can work a fella up all on his own, thank you, but Jane’s helpful commentary is as much for Dirk as it is for him, to remind him that she’s got this under control.

Likewise, Roxy’s bedroom eyes and smug smile are aimed at Jake, but turn Jane’s way every now and again, all snarky amusement over a level of need, of love. She drops a double entendre at every opportunity, makes Jake fumble and bluster, go suddenly shy. Dirk snickers with her, through the gag, through a haze, and they briefly touch foreheads in a hands free imitation of a high five.

Jane averts her eyes momentarily when Jake lifts Dirk’s hips, studies her nails through the sound of a grunt, a moan.  She doesn’t look up till Dirk is breathing evenly, whimpering occasionally.

He makes more noise with the gag in place than he ever does without, which Roxy seems to think is sad, but Jane knows makes sense.

He’s more free like this, more open to show what he feels. After all, if he isn’t the one in control, how can he _possibly_ help it?

He sounds good and she tells him so, but hearing her voice so suddenly makes them all pause. They wait for her, as if they expect a change in orders, and the way their attention shifts to her so completely makes her dip her head, hide a little in embarrassment.

Dirk is supposed to be the center of attention here, isn’t he?

She clears her throat, apologizes for the interruption, and tells them to go right ahead, and without another moment’s hesitation, they do. She lays her head against her forearm, watching it all sideways, and they’re just as lovely from this angle.

Jake is as handsome now as ever, and seeing him react to each of her suggestions, gripping Dirk here, there, kissing his neck softly, makes her stomach do backflips.

She watches him work his hips, growl against Dirk’s throat, mutter something that she _does_ catch, something rough and dirty that isn’t her style, but makes Dirk whine this needy little noise.

Under Jake’s touch, Dirk falls into his element, out of his many selves, and exists as a simple thing, writhing, gasping, looking pained and perfect.

He makes the most desperate noise while Roxy nuzzles his cheek, murmurs that he is so good, he’s doing _so good_ , she’s so glad. She holds him through the panic of helplessness, whispers cheeky little things in his ear that catch him up halfway between a laugh and sob of need, makes such a pretty sound.

He strains and sweats between them, chokes on curses he can’t get out, and when he looks to Jane, pleading, she nods her approval.

She reaches out to Jake, taps his shoulder with the pointed end of Dirk’s folded shades, and after a quick, slightly confused glance back at her, he gets it, picks up the pace, pushes Dirk that much further.

Dirk shudders all over when he comes, gives a sharp, soft cry that’s barely muffled by the gag.

Jake follows shortly after, stifles his gasp against Dirk’s shoulder, stifles a laugh there too when Roxy calls him a foxy stud.

She and Jane spend the next few minutes assessing Jake’s studliness, while he’s too breathless to respond and Dirk is incapable of arguing against the point.

 It takes a few moments, but eventually they all come back to themselves.

Roxy slips the gag from Dirk’s mouth, the binds from his arms, and he thanks her as well, kisses the palm of her hand in a rare show of direct, if not slightly dizzy, affection.

Jane can’t count the freckles on his skin from here, but she can see the blood beneath his skin, the sweat staining the shirt across Jake’s back, the smudge of Roxy’s lipstick where it met Dirk’s cheek.

She takes in the view, her darlings in all their glory, and waits till they’ve settled. Once they’re out of their tangle, sitting in an orderly fashion, she climbs down from the easy chair, slides into the space they left her on the couch.

She hands Dirk his shades, and he drops them on the table, too sweaty and tired to bother putting them back on.

Jake and Dirk are each damp, slightly sticky, but sitting down between them doesn’t bother her. Nor does the press of Roxy’s breasts against her thighs as she throws herself down across the lot of them, a squealing sprawl of person.

Dirk makes a weak complaint about the state of his oversensitive everything, and Roxy rolls her eyes, says he should probably still be quiet and submissive or something, but turns to Jane to see if it’s true.

Jane can’t quite answer that herself. She looks to her right, questioning, and Dirk looks back, blank faced.

He’s overestimated himself though, forgotten his lack of cover. His eyes are more expressive than he seems to realize, and when Jane looks at him long and hard, tries to judge just how much he’s thinking, she can see the ease reflected in his expression. He looks almost peaceful, sort of happy in a dazed and sleepy way, and that is a good enough answer for her.

She announces that he is officially maxed and chillaxed, to use Roxy’s turn of phrase, and he is free to be a bossy boots puppet master whenever the mood strikes him.

Dirk smiles slightly, lets his head drop against Jane’s shoulder and doesn’t even seem to mind that his hair rumples sideways.

He says he doesn’t think he’s in the mood to do much of anything right now.

Their respective places on the couch are all pretty comfortable though, easily shifted to initiate a cuddle here or there when needed, and it isn’t like they have anywhere to be for the rest of the day.

Doing nothing, they can all agree, is probably a good plan.

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End file.
